


Suffering Sappho!

by FrenchTwistResistance



Category: Designing Women
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: Suzanne reveals an intimate secret.





	Suffering Sappho!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been watching too much Designing Women and practicing too many hypothetical rants in my car. I just really think Suzanne would make the best repressed lesbian, and I am not sorry in the least.

The door to Sugarbakers’ opens abruptly, and in wafts Suzanne, in tight jeans, a ribbed a-shirt, an unbuttoned red-and-black flannel, black combat boots, and a dark-wash denim jacket with Sherpa lining. Her hair is mostly hidden by a stocking cap, and her makeup is subdued. She shrugs off the jacket and hangs it dramatically.

“There’s something different about you today. But I can’t put my finger on it,” Mary Jo says.

“Oh very funny. Don’t think I’m happy about it! But it’s what my people wear, apparently. So here we are.”

“Your. People?” Charlene says.

Julia, at her desk, has just now tuned into the conversation, takes off her reading glasses, says,

“As far as I recall, I’m your people, and I do not dress like a lumberjack.”

“Not that kind of people,” Suzanne says as she crosses to the divan and sits primly, taking up a magazine from the coffee table. “My other people. You know. Lesbians.”

The other three share a few glances. Mary Jo takes up the thread:

“I may have gotten some water in my ears when I was giving Brownie his flea dip last night. Did you say thespians? Have you joined a theater troupe?”

“No, don’t be goofy. I’d never take up with anything like that. I’m a lesbian, not a weirdo.”

“Forgive me if I’m being insensitive. But I’m a little stuck on this. Lesbian. Thing,” Charlene says.

“I think we’re all stuck on that,” Julia says.

Suzanne huffs, tosses the magazine back onto the coffee table.

“Well, if you must know. I was painting my nails on an issue of Cosmo last night which was open on a quiz about sex-u-al-ity. And I couldn’t turn the page because my nails were wet. And I couldn’t turn on the tv because my nails were wet. And Consuela was out at what may or may not have been a cock fight—whatever it was she convinced me to put twenty dollars on someone or something called El Rojo Grande. And I couldn’t call Anthony because—”

“Your nails were wet. We get it,” Mary Jo says.

“So I ended up taking this quiz. And I am now a member of the LLCLTD or whatever it is. So now y’all have to be nicer to me because I am a minority or I’ll just call up Billie Jean King and she’ll come beat you at tennis and that’ll show you.” Suzanne gasps, turns to Julia. “You were always so good at tennis! Do you think you could be one, too? Does it run in families? I’ll have to bring in the quiz tomorrow for you to take!”

“I assure you, that won’t be necessary. I’m not a lesbian, Suzanne. And neither are you. You’ve been married three times. To men, might I remind you.”

“That’s just what the quiz said you would say! You’re trying to invalidate me! I will not be invalidated! I am not a parking space at city hall!” 

Julia forcefully places her hands onto her hips, begins pacing. But before Julia can start up, Charlene does:

“Now I don’t know what all exactly this quiz asked you, but these things tell you all kinds of things. Why, I took one just this morning that told me if I were a dog I’d be a golden retriever. That doesn’t mean I’m going to go out and buy a collar and some kibble and start playing fetch with anybody who throws a ball. Course that could come in handy if Billie Jean King does show up.”

“It’s not like your stupid Enquirer hillbilly psychic stuff. It was written by psychologists and based on the Ben Kingsley scale!”

Mary Jo cocks her head:

“Ben Kingsley. He’s a thespian, you know.”

“Oh you know what I mean!” 

“Yes,” Julia says. “We all know you mean the Kinsey scale. And we all also know you shouldn’t be making grand pronouncements about drastic life changes based on women’s magazine quiz results!”

“But I still want to know just what in this quiz led you to believe you are a lesbian,” Mary Jo says.

“Do not encourage her,” Julia says.

“I’m curious, too. If this sort of thing could happen to Suzanne, it could happen to anyone. I want to know what to look out for,” Charlene says.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Julia throws up her hands.

“Well,” Suzanne begins. “First, it asked me if I fantasized about men, and I had to say yes because I do fantasize about men giving me money and jewelry and compliments. And then it asked if I enjoyed sex with men, and I had to say no. A lot of sweating—not by me, mind you. I do not perspire.—and grunting and yeah baby and—”

“Please. Get on with it,” Julia says.

“Then it asked if I fantasized about women. And that was also a yes. I often fantasize that women like me and are nice to me.” She shoots a glance at Julia. “Or I fantasize that women are so jealous of me they just spontaneously combust on the spot. Or that I say something so witty and cutting that they run out of the room crying in embarrassment. Or that we’re all backstage at a pageant and everyone drops out immediately upon seeing me in my bathing suit. Or that—”

“Sorry to interrupt, but didn’t you think these fantasies they’re asking about oughtta be—” Charlene pauses to stage whisper, “—sexual in nature?”

“Well, I don’t know, Charlene! They didn’t specify. I was just answering the questions they asked! Anyway! There were a lot of other questions along the same lines and then ‘Think back to a time you were extremely aroused.’ Well. By now my nails were dry. I don’t usually like the Revlon quick dry, but I’m on a budget these days since Reggie Mac Dawson stole my life savings. I might have to change my mind on Revlon. Because it really did dry quick. No streaks or smudges or anything—”

“Suzanne.” Julia’s been exasperated since she first saw the “wife-beater” undershirt and is triply so now.

“My nails were dry, so I looked that up in my Funk and Wagnalls. ‘Arouse: To provoke an extreme emotion.’ And I, of course, thought of Miss Valdosta Feed and Grain!”

“The one who pretended to be your friend and stabbed you in the back!” Charlene says.

“The very one!”

Suzanne sits with her hands folded in her lap, smug smile in place as if she’s definitively proved her case.

“Now, Suzanne,” Julia begins firmly but sympathetically and a little condescendingly. “It’s perfectly reasonable to have strong feelings when someone betrays you. That does not make you a lesbian.”

“I know that! What makes me a lesbian is that we slept together!”

Charlene drops her pen. Mary Jo and Julia look at each other.

“You mean as roommates,” Mary Jo says.

“As lovers, silly. Don’t you know what a lesbian is? I swear, for all your feminist claptrap, you and Julia really don’t know anything.”

There is a long, silent beat.

“I mean, to your credit, I didn’t know what it meant at the time. But that quiz certainly enlightened me! Y’all oughtta take it. You might learn something about yourselves.”

“I don’t think so,” Julia says as she returns to her desk. Mary Jo and Charlene both mumble similar sentiments as they also return to their work.

“Oh! So I’m the only one who didn’t know getting excited about spraying another woman’s backside so her bathing suit doesn’t ride up is homosexual activity?! Well excuse me for living!”

“Not only are you the only one of us to have performed that particular task, but also you are the only one to have been aroused by that task. And there’s nothing wrong with that. We love you. We accept you. But this is a business, and we should get back to work,” Julia says.

Mary Jo and Charlene nod their agreement. Suzanne huffs.

“Not like I would date any of you dogs anyway.”

xxx

Several weeks later, it’s well past one pm, and Suzanne was supposed to have been in by eleven.

The door flings open, and Suzanne’s in her regular supremely bizarre peplum blazer skirt suit, full hair and makeup. She hangs her mink and plops onto the sofa.

“I swear! This lesbian business is exhausting. I’ve never been invited to so many parties. Apparently it’s the in thing to have a token lesbian. The Roscoe-Baileys hardly let me sleep. I’m beginning to know how Noel must feel when I put her in her tutu and drive her around in my Mercedes with the top down. I’m their pet lesbian, paraded around for threesomes and bored housewives. I oughtta just have a sign around my neck saying ‘Free to a good home.’”

“I guess you haven’t found a good home,” Charlene says.

“No! I’m beginning to think these people really don’t know anything about the community. I read another magazine article recently, and in the winter I’m supposed to be in flannel and in summer tacky Hawaiian shirts. At any time I can wear a snapback. Now I don’t know what that is, but apparently women who are flirting with you are always stealing them from you. So my guess is it’s some kind of undergarment. And the stealing of it is like a panty raid. But what would the Roscoe-Baileys do if I showed up on their yacht in flannel or a Hawaiian shirt or my underclothes? I wouldn’t be their pet lesbian then! I would be some crazy person they didn’t know! If I don’t look a certain way and act a certain way I’m not acceptable! The claustrophobia never ceases!”

“I think you mean lesbophobia,” Mary Jo says.

xxx

Several months later, Suzanne’s sitting on the settee, inspecting the ring on her finger with her jeweler’s magnifying glass.

“Suzanne. You’ve accepted it. I’ve accepted it. The Roscoe-Baileys have accepted it. The Beaumont Driving Club has accepted it. You are romantically and sexually attracted to women exclusively. Why, pray tell, are you still dating old men?” Julia says.

“Julia. I work here part-time. The majority of my income is alimony. Reggie Mac Dawson stole my savings. I have expensive tastes.”

“But why wouldn’t you want to find yourself a nice rich wife?” Charlene says.

“Look. I don’t know how the courts work in podunk nowhere, but here in civilization a lesbian divorce is ugly, if it’s recognized as a real thing at all. I know two women who’ve divorced their partners, and they were lucky to get out with their lives let alone diamonds. If I want alimony, which I do, I need a man to give it to me. And if we’re both seeing a woman on the side, well, all the better. Just so long as we’re not dipping from the same well, so to speak.”

“That’s despicable,” Julia says.

“I don’t know,” Mary Jo says. “As much as I hate to admit it, it might be a sound economical argument.”

“And what is marriage if not an economical argument,” Julia says sarcastically.

“As long as he stays away from the red-heads,” Suzanne says.

“You and Daddy did always have a strange joke about that,” Julia says.

“We’d see an attractive red head and one or both of us would say, ‘Make mine a double!’ It’s a wonder I didn’t know sooner.”

Mary Jo stiffens.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Suzanne says.


End file.
